They never say, “Yeah, remember that time you locked your keys in the car at the end of a date, and the guy had to sit there in the parking lot and wait for us to show up while he was supposed to be getting back to his kids at home?”

They never sigh loudly.

They never lecture me on how to not lock keys in a car.

They never say, “Oh noooo, it’s fine. Fine. I mean, I think I might have strep throat and I’ve already changed four tires tonight and it’s pitch black out here, but I didn’t really want to stay in that warm vehicle of mine anyway.”

They never say, “Seriously. Next time you’re on your own.”

They just show up with their big truck full of magic tools – even when it’s ten below zero – smile, and get me back into my car. Like a boss. Like a hero.

So I can finally drive away from my 24/7 fitness club and take myself, my son, and my keys back to where we belong.

Not that anything like that happened recently or anything.

__

Here’s to being as kind to yourself (and your people) as AAA would be.

Even about maddening moves that might occur now and then (and possibly again).

To those who are
living for
longing for
fighting for
and searching for it

To those who have
lost it
so recently
the shadow of it
still lingers
in the doorway

To those who are
longing for it
so earnestly
the very thought of it
is both intoxicating
and cruel

To those who have
found it
so completely
they simply can’t contain
the heart-pounding
joy of it

To those who can’t
remember
how it feels to
actually feel it
and those who are
desperately
watching it slip through
their fingers
and those who have had it
savagely torn
from their arms
and those who swear
they never want it
again

To those who are
reeling
from the very first
head-spinning
sensations
of its blooming possibility

To those who areembracingthe hard work
and everyday ordinariness
of it

To those who believe
they’ll never have it
the way they actually
want it

To those who can
only seem to find it
from afar,
all star-crossed
and alone

To those who aren’t
really sure
what it even is

To those who have
discovered it
exactly in the place
where they thought
they never would

And to all of us
who are struggling
to give it
to ourselves
and accept it
from others

Happy Valentine’s Day.

__

Did you know? The name Valentine means strength and capacity.

Happy Day of Strength, friends.

May your capacity be expanded in all the most gentle and beautiful ways.

I immediately responded to the seller in all three of their provided formats: one email address and two text numbers. “Is your pink couch still available? I’m very interested.”

I won’t make you wait as long as I had to to know how this story ends (I know you’re on the edge of your seat).

Alas, as I alluded to earlier, this pink couch was not meant to be. For two very valid reasons.

__

One, this couch is (allegedly) not pink.

I know, I know. It looks like a fabulously over-the-top shade of magenta, right? But, through a series of emails and texts (in which I was barely hiding my giddy excitement, while hoping they wouldn’t suddenly quadruple the price), I asked the seller three times to tell me a little more about the exact shade of pink. Each time, they assured me: “It’s not pink. It’s red.”

Wait, what? Are you sure? It looks very pink/purple/magenta from here.

“No,” they replied. “It’s crimson.”

But.

I became concerned that perhaps these well-meaning folks must be color-blind, so I called R-boy up to the loft office. “R-boy, look at this couch. Does that look pink or red to you?”

“No,” he said.

“What? It’s not pink or red?”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No you can’t buy that couch.”

“But. It’s pink! (Or possibly red.)”

“We have too much pink already. You can’t buy it.” And he walked back downstairs.

“But what if we only have one pink couch?” I shouted behind him. “What if I get rid of the one we already have!”

“I like the one we already have!” he yelled up from his seat on the gorgeous pink couch we already have.

__

The boy does have a point.

Also, he’s really not a boy anymore.

The fantastic young man I live with and love has just announced that he’s not okay with a flamboyantly pink (but apparently not actually pink) couch in his living room, especially when we have a perfectly amazing pink couch already sitting in front of the TV.

Point taken.

Although, I’ll admit, if that Craigslist pink couch was actually pink, I might be fighting this a bit harder. I am The Mother after all (insert evil laugh).

This whole thing is sounding a bit familiar, though…

Oh, right! This is what my married girlfriends with similarly funky tastes have been bumping into for years in their own houses. Men. With tastes and opinions.

It’s been quite a year. One that I ran out of words for, or at least words that I could bring myself to post. Yet. But the other day, some friends spotted a previous blog post of mine, sitting in my windowsill, waiting to be noticed, and they celebrated it for me.

Yes, R-girl is off to college. She’s more than halfway through her freshman year already. Life at R-house looks, feels, and sounds a lot different. It’s just me and R-boy now. And, I think I can say, I’m finally starting to get somewhat used to this new reality.

In fact, I’ve discovered some incredibly sweet and unexpected things here in this very-different world of mine.

But I won’t lie. 2014 was even harder than I thought it would be (and I thought it would be hard).

It took all the energy and grace I could muster, and then some. I’ll admit, I did a little kicking and screaming. And, on top of the actual struggle, I had to constantly fight off the rude voices in my head that kept helpfully pointing out that other people didn’t seem to be having such a hard time with this off-to-college transition, so there clearly must be something wrong with me.

But what I know (and had to be reminded of over and over) is that what other people seem to be doing is beside the point. Right? My journey is what it is. And what it is, sometimes (for any of us), is hard.

It’s hard to end a season of life that you really, truly loved.

It’s hard to say goodbye to a person you’ve looked forward to seeing, and hugging, and teasing, and listening to, and snuggling with, and caring for, and just being around every day for 18 years.

It’s hard to have no actual idea of how the next chapter will look, while holding many fears of how it might.

It’s hard to share someone you once naively thought belonged to you.

It’s hard to figure out what “family” means when there are only two people left in the house.

It’s hard to reconcile that the very thing causing you pain is bringing joy and delight to the person you love—and you absolutely want that (but you also sort of don’t).

It’s hard to figure out how to keep your own sadness from becoming a burden for the person you love—because that really would be the last thing you’d want.

It’s hard to feel left behind.

It’s hard to do it alone.

It’s hard to admit all those things.

So, this might be living proof that I can survive hard things. Even when I don’t want to.

And, I guess I can’t help but notice…

Apparently, even when life involves a lot more letting go than you ever signed up for, and even when you’re so distracted by the hard work of grieving and adjusting that you can barely be trusted with much else—like remembering to provide water (and a bigger pot?) to your 2014 partner—even then, growth happens.

Sometimes, when there’s just too much to say, and there are way too many stories to tell, and emotions have been running high, my words can get a little bottled up.

And I have to just let things flow, any which way I can.

So, here goes.

First, this happened.

And a week or so later, so did this.

I’ve decided that the stories behind and within those pictures are more than I can capture in a blog post. Parts are too tender. Or messy. Or meaningful only to me.

So, instead, I’ll give you a glimpse into R-girl’s grad party…

…and I’ll tell you three things:

1) Pulling off this party tapped pretty much every emotion in me that you could name.

2) If not for the love and support of a swarm of incredible friends and family, there would have either been no party at all or I would be in the crazy farm.

3) Experiencing the care and sacrifice that people poured out for R-girl – and me – was… beautiful. And humbling.

And incredible.

__

Oh, and also this:

4) If you don’t live in the Midwest, you might not even know what this whole “grad party” thing is. That might not be a bad thing.

5) I have a perfectly sized house for three people. Not dozens upon dozens of people.

6) We were pelted by hurricane-ish weather until about half an hour before the open house began. As in, a tree blew down across the street while we were struggling to put the tent up. (The rains continued all day; thank God, the winds died down.) The tent had four sides and we used them all.

7) Fortunately, some of the aforementioned friends scrambled to completely encase my screen porch in plastic – so we didn’t lose that space to the rain.

Urban Bean is where R-girl spent many an evening and weekend during her senior year – doing endless hours of homework. It’s an impeccably designed space that inspired her best work. (And some of her best Instagrams.)

And so, instead of serving the usual lunch spread at her open house, we went with a coffee-and-pastries theme. Because this party was all about R-girl. And this is so her.

I can’t even begin to tell you how many people spent hours and hours making these amazing pastries. Our table was literally overflowing with the love and creativity and generosity of our friends and family.

I wish we didn’t end up needing to turn off most of the lights in the house (to keep the espresso machine from continually blowing a fuse). And I wish it hadn’t been quite so crowded in our little house (thanks to the rain). These circumstances made it a bit of a challenge to find – and see – the treat table.

But if I ate sugar, wheat, or dairy, I could confirm for you what I heard over and over from those who found the goodies. It all tasted great. Especially the cake pops.

And the espresso bar? It was a hit. (Our rainy day was perfect for lattés.)

And the other beverages looked as good as they tasted.

Which was all great.

But can I just say?

It was a completely overwhelming experience to one minute be sneaking a picture with R-girl in our empty backyard tent, wondering if anyone would actually show up…

and the next minute be surrounded by people from all corners of our lives. People who came to wish R-girl well. A steady stream of people – for four hours straight. So many people it was sometimes impossible to move from one end of our house to the other.

Even people like my cousin Amy, whose oldest daughter was getting married the very next weekend. She drove four hours round trip to be with us – in the midst of her own chaotic prep work.

It brought tears to my eyes.

And then there are the people like these who also brought tears to my eyes.

Over the past couple of months, these friends (and so many others – you know who you are!!) and my sweet family helped me literally transform our yard, rebuild and paint our screen porch, plan the menu, make the pastries, clean the house, paint party signs, and pick up supplies from all corners of creation. They let me ask for help, borrow their stuff, process plans, and vent as needed. On the big day, they showed up to raise the tent (in the driving rain), move furniture, display the pastries, decorate, manage the kitchen, restock the food, empty the trash, do the dishes, calm my nerves, and pretty much run the show while I mingled.

One friend even ran to Costco the morning of the party to buy me more pastries and beverages because I was panicking about not having enough. Turns out, I had way (way!) more than enough. But I figure the price I paid for all those extras was well worth the soothing it provided for my anxiety.

Oh, and a crew of folks with big, strong muscles tore down the entire operation for me at the end of the day. In about 30 minutes flat.

Wow, April. What a month. Let’s skip over the parts about my blog being hacked, and work going berserk, and grad party overwhelm kicking in, and life being generally a little over the top lately and just go right to this:

The many faces of the ocean.

Is there anything more soothing?

I’ll answer that:

No.

Especially when you’re experiencing that ocean from a sizzling hot, sandy beach. And sometimes in the company of playful dolphins:

Yes, friends, this is where I’ve been – at least for part of this past month.

I escaped to Florida on a last-minute getaway with R-girl.

My dream to take a mother/daughter trip with my graduating senior came true when I got a very generous, unexpected offer to join a good friend and her daughter at their condo for a week. R-girl and I both played hooky from our piles of responsibilities, I promised R-boy his own senior trip in a few years (if I allow him to get that old), and the two of us took off for six days and five nights on beautiful Barefoot Beach, near Naples, Florida.

It was a dream.

Staying in my girlfriend Jamie’s place is basically like staying in a magazine.

Right?

She’s pulled all of that together on a dime – painting every square inch herself, digging up bargains all over Florida, Minnesota, and the Internet – and creating a haven for the soul.

Beachy. Comfortable. Beautiful. Perfect.

And the best part is this:

The ocean out every window.

We were warm all the way down to our toes (even me!).

We soaked in the sun.We walked miles and miles along Barefoot Beach. Which, by the way is ironically named – because this is what the beach actually looks like:

R-girl and I even went on a couple of SUP (stand-up paddle boarding) adventures! And a dolphin was jumping ahead of us! I’m not even kidding! Yes, a group of guys on shore kept yelling to us that it was actually a shark but I didn’t fall for that, and I didn’t fall off my board either. (All that yoga is paying off.)

Here’s a pic of our first SUP outing, in the back bays just off Bonita Beach:

I even managed to pull my phone out of the fancy waterproof box I borrowed to take some pics of the claustrophobic bridge we had to maneuver under. (We were basically spelunking at that point.)

After that, R-girl and I decided we were SUP pros, so a few days later we rented some boards on the ocean itself.

Which might have been fine on an ordinary day, but we somehow ended up with the windiest, waviest ocean of the week. So, while we tried and tried to get our boards to move in a somewhat southward direction, we were basically the bumbling entertainment for hundreds of sunbathers on the quarter-mile of public beach. R-girl would be shouting, “Wait for me!” or “I can’t control this thing anymore!” while she’d be floating out to sea, and I would be yelling, “GET BACK HERE NOW” and so she would turn her board around and head in the opposite direction from me. Which I would then also try to do, but it took quite a bit of maneuvering to reverse course. So we’d give each other the 100-yards-removed silent treatment for a while.

It was awesome.

No, really. It was.

Later we’d do photo shoots on the beach at sunset to make up.

Then we’d dress up and go enjoy an amazing dinner out.

By which I do mean “out.” As in OUTSIDE, people. One of my favorite things in the entire world: Eating outside and not being cold.

(She’s drinking Coca Cola, calm down.)

Oh, and I found my new house on the beach:

But more important, I found my breath, my warmth, and myself.

And I had the absolute sweetest time with the girl who means the very most to me in all the world.

The one who will be moving on to a new phase of life before I finish my newest bottle of shampoo.

The one who was a sweet and sassy toddler like five minutes ago.

The one who will be voting in the next election.

The one who brought every kind of camera known to man on our trip, including her Instax with only 10 precious pictures on its not-at-all-digital film.

So if you made it onto one of her Instax pics, you knew you were special.

Over the last few months, I’ve had the privilege of walking beside a man – and his family – as they traveled that road together. Once it became clear that there was no turning back, once they knew for certain where they were headed – that the COPD had reached its final stage – the entire family gathered round and buckled up.

They had no idea how long this road might be, or how bumpy things might get, but they knew one thing for sure: No one would be left behind.

They would make this journey together.

And so they cried. They laughed. They sipped coffee. They told stories. They ate dinners. They cleaned up. They said goodbyes. They made amends. They teased each other. They hugged each other. They watched movies. They held hands. They sang songs. They laughed some more. They worried. They tried not to worry. They waited. They prayed.

They talked about where this road was leading, as plainly as if this road was leading to the world’s largest ball of twine or the Hanging Gardens of Babylon or some other strange place that we’ve all heard of but never seen.

They wondered what it would be like. They hoped the journey would be peaceful, at least at the end. Especially at the end.

And, mercifully, it was.

Even the very last leg of this road, the one that the rest of us were invited to join – with its police escort and winding procession of cars – was blanketed in a peaceful spring snow coming down so heavy and thick that we could barely see the blinking hazard lights of the car ahead. All the world was veiled, and quiet. Surreal. Serene.

The rows of white tombstones disappeared into the weather.

We all stood in the snow, huddled together for warmth and comfort, and said a final goodbye.

I’ve had many goodbyes over the past few years. Some harder than others. This one was not easy, for sure. It’s not easy to watch his family walk out this great loss. Phil left behind so much love, which makes this both more painful and less painful at the same time. But it’s soothing to know that he’s getting what he’s wanted for so long – slow, deep lungfuls of air.

At least we can know that.

We were only at the gravesite long enough for the three rifle volleys, and the folding of the flag, and one last prayer, but by the time we got back into our cars to drive away the snow had already stopped and, within minutes, the sun was peeking through.

The journey is over.

A brave and beautiful soul is finally home.

And the rest of us are left with the memories of an amazing man, and a slightly better sense of how to walk out our own road, wherever it may lead.